


It's a Shame, That You Have to Treat Him That Way

by jadebrycin2116



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 30 minute break, AU, College, Domestic Violence, Drinking, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Mentions of other ships, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse, but still very much happy, semi open ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:03:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadebrycin2116/pseuds/jadebrycin2116
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Does this happen a lot?”</i><br/>He peeks up and blinks twice, “Does what happen a lot?” As if he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Lydia Martin is nothing if not a genius. There’s no doubt in his mind that she knew what was going on between him and Malia as soon as she laid eyes on him. She’s just waiting for him to say it, confirm it really.<br/>“The fighting…the fighting turning physical.”<br/>“I’ve never touched her,” he defends immediately, forgetting he’s not the one on trial. It’s hard to remember sometimes.<br/>“I wouldn’t be in here cleaning you up if I thought you had.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Shame, That You Have to Treat Him That Way

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I started playing around with after seeing the music video for the song "30 Minute Break" by The Luka State. It's pretty much inspired by the music video and song. 
> 
> Just be forewarned, this is a story about domestic violence. It's not incredibly graphic or detailed, but the violence is mentioned. The abuse is more verbal I would say. either way, it's there, just in case that might be a trigger for any of you. 
> 
> I am an avid stydia shipper, and I don't really have any qualms against Malia, but she isn't painted in the best light in this story just in case that might bother any of you stalia shippers. 
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!

He should be more excited he thinks.

Sitting in his old living room, he still knows how to work all the remotes to the TV. The couch still has that dark purple stain on it from when he and Scott spilled grape juice when they were eight. Every picture on the mantle is still layered in dust with the exception of Claudia’s picture, which his father obviously still dusts every Sunday. Everything is still the same.

Except for him.

 _He’s changed_. 

Just the way he’s sitting, right on the edge of the chair with his back stiff and straight, hands folded in his lap as he attempts not to rattle anything in his own childhood home, is a clear indication. He’s so anxious he can’t even enjoy a beer with his dad. His eyes continue darting around the room, not so much in panic, as anticipation. He’s waiting, because at this point it’s not so much a matter of ‘ _if_ ’ as it is ‘ _when_ ’.

“Stiles relax, you look so tense. I haven’t seen you sit this still since…well _ever_. Are you okay?” the Sheriff laughs. It’s supposed to be a joke but Stiles doesn’t see the humor in this moment. His father takes a sip of his own beer and leans back in the armchair. Stiles is envious of his carefree demeanor. His dad seems so calm, so comfortable. It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to be. He just… _can’t_.

He stifles a laugh but it trails off unbelievably. The Sheriff doesn’t seem to notice, or at least he pretends not too. “Yeah, long drive or something I guess. I’m kind of tired.”

It takes far too much concentration to force himself to ease back into the seat, to look relaxed. It shouldn’t be this hard. Even now that he’s spread his legs a little and slumped his shoulders, he’s not sure if it looks convincing. 

His own beer stares back at him, condensation dripping down the neck. He likes to drink, he really does…or at least he used to. It used to be fun. Now it’s more of a painkiller than anything. He’s only twenty one and already his relationship with alcohol is bordering on unstable. It’s tainted if not completely wrong. Still he brings the bottle to his lips, only because he wants to look like he’s having fun.

That makes him dad smile. It only took a sip of beer and a change in posture to put his mind at ease. People are so easy to trick sometimes, it’s almost nauseating. Or maybe his father never notices because he isn’t looking. Stiles hasn’t exactly given the man a reason to suspect anything. He’d seemed fine during the summer because he _was_. He’d managed to fake being okay during Thanksgiving break, but that was because he’d only had to fake it for a few days. Now he was home for over a month, they were _both_ home for over a month. He couldn’t possibly imagine keeping up this façade for the next six or seven weeks.

The Sheriff laughs again, “Something tells me that’ll change when you see Scott and everyone else.”

“Y-yeah,” agrees Stiles nervously. Inside, his stomach seems to be twisting itself into knots. He could almost throw up… _had he actually eaten anything_. His dad is too excited to see him, to notice there’s anything wrong yet. Scott, Lydia, Allison, Kira, Erica, even _Isaac_ , they might know something. Hell Boyd still treats him indifferently and even he might notice _something_. 

He’s suddenly distracted by the feel of his phone buzzing in his pocket. It’s a text, a text from Lydia. He swallows hard. She’s been texting him on and off all week. They hadn’t gotten a chance to talk over Thanksgiving break. It hadn’t been intentional…well not completely. It had been complicated. This time though, she’d made it clear there would be no shortage of good times spent together.

‘ **Hey, I thought you were coming out tonight? Where are you? –L** ’

It’s signed “L”. Back in high school Stiles used to tell her it was stupid, but now he appreciates it. Without the moniker he wouldn’t know who the messages were from. He’d long since deleted her number from his contacts, but he refused to delete her from his life.

“Something wrong?”

It’s only then that he realizes he’s making a face. He probably looks distressed. It’s how he feels. Suddenly his heart is beating fast and his hands are on the verge of sweating. It’s his go to reaction, if not an instinct really. It’s such bad timing.

 _Relax_ , he thinks, _steady your fucking breathing_.

“N-no. It’s just Lydia wondering where I’m at.” 

“Oh, what are you waiting for? I know you’re excited to see your friends, don’t think you have to wait up with me. I have to start getting ready for a late shift at the station in an hour or two anyway. I probably won’t be home until tomorrow morning.”

“It’s fine. I was waiting until…until Malia got out of the shower so I could tell her I was leaving.” He hopes it doesn’t sound nearly as stupid as he thinks, but judging by the look on his dad’s face, it sounds even worse.

“Is she staying the night?”

Stiles shrugs, “Yeah, probably.” It’s not as if she doesn’t have her own home in Beacon Hills, but odds are she’ll probably spend a lot of time here anyway. It’s been that way since high school. The idea isn’t new to anybody.

“Then you go. I’ll tell her that you left already.” 

He hesitates. He should stay. He should tell her himself. He knows that. It would just be better that way…but his phone buzzes again and this time it’s Scott. He’s keeping them waiting and for what? These are his friends. If he wants to hang out with his friends, he’s old enough that he should just be able to get up and go do that.

“Alright, thanks.” He tries to sound normal but his voice is a little shaky. His father nods and doesn’t mention that his son’s steps are so light even the old floor boards by the archway don’t creak.

XXX

They’d agreed to meet up at some hole in the wall bar that’s conveniently close to his house. Stiles remembers walking past the place a bunch of times during high school but never being quite old enough to actually go in. Now he doesn’t even care. He’s just excited to see his friends. They could’ve met up in an old abandoned shack for all he cared as long as he got to see them. He still feels like shit for not seeing any of them the last time they were all in town. He wishes he could say it wasn’t his fault, and technically it wasn’t…but he’d _allowed_ it to happen so that made him partially responsible right?

God, he was so screwed up in the head he wasn’t sure what was and wasn’t his fault anymore.

It was safer to assume that everything was.

“Stiles!” he hears as he walks up, hands in his coat pockets. The voice immediately brings a smile to his face. Allison is fucking contagious like that. It’s a gift really. She pops up and throws her arms around him before he can even make it all the way to their table. For the first time since he pulled into Beacon Hills, first time in months really, he feels himself genuinely relax. “Oh my God, we missed you! Don’t ever come into town and not see any of us ever again! What the hell is wrong with you?”

He stares at her for a second before it occurs to him that this isn’t _her_. This is Allison. He doesn’t have to assess whether her anger is real or not. She’s not going to hurt him. He feels stupid for thinking that she would, but it’s just his reflexes doing that. It’s the reaction. 

His cheeks flush red and he rubs the back of his neck with his hand, “Yeah, sorry about that. I got really busy. But I’m here now right?”

Scott’s up wrapping his arms around him before anyone even has the chance to answer. The hug is tight. Stiles tries not to flinch under the pressure. “We’ll let it go this time. I’ll even let you buy me a drink.”

“Oh how sweet of you, _really_.”

“I’m kidding, first rounds on me. You catch up with everyone and I’ll bring it back. No worries.” 

It’s a full house: Scott, Allison, Lydia, Kira, Danny, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Even Jackson’s visiting from London. Not that Jackson was ever really his favorite guy, but he’s not going to complain about it. They all look so good and seem so happy. Part of him is jealous. None of them are doing anything different then he is. Why is it that Boyd and Erica can’t stop stealing kisses from each other and blushing like idiots? Why hasn’t Scott taken his arm off of Kira’s shoulder since he brought back drinks? How is it that he can practically feel the sexual attraction radiating from Isaac and Allison’s every move and glance? How are there all these happy couples and he—

“How’s Malia?” Isaac asks.

He looks up from the drink he’s been babysitting bitterly. “Huh?”

“Ma-li-a,” he repeats looking at Stiles like he’s an idiot. Jackson has a proud smile on his face. “Your _girlfriend_ , how is she?”

“Where is she?” Boyd adds.

“She’s back at my house. She was taking a shower. She’ll probably come later. I didn’t want to keep you guys waiting.” 

“Really? ‘Cuz I’ve been waiting for you to finish that beer for like ten minutes. Come on dude, second round’s actually on you and I’m thirsty.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at Scott but pulls the drink to his lips and starts to chug. For once, his beer is actually smooth and refreshing. He can actually enjoy it, instead of using it to drown out everything. Moments later he’s setting the now empty mug down onto the table. Jackson, Isaac, and Boyd roll their eyes. Danny pats his back. Scott has the proudest grin on his face. “Bet you can’t do it again?”

“Bet you a shot of Crown that I can do it twice before you can?” he counters. He’s not sure where it came from, but he and Scott used to make stupid bets like this all the time. They spent half the summer wasting their money on repaying liquor and food related bets. 

“You’re on.”

It becomes an all-out contest at the table. They’re all putting in their votes on who can chug two beers fastest. They’re laughing and joking. The air at the table is light hearted and loving. It’s the best he’s felt in a long time. He missed them. For a second, he wonders why the hell he’d been okay with not seeing them over Thanksgiving break but then she walks in and…

Oh yeah, _her._

XXX

Everyone loves Malia. They always have. They all think that they’re a good couple. Even Isaac had mentioned once that he liked them together. His friends had been happy that he’d found someone. Stiles had been too, really. Even he knew he couldn’t spend the rest of his life pining over Lydia Martin.

When she comes, she takes the seat next to him and inserts herself easily into conversation as if she’d never been late. They drink. Stiles drinks a little more than he was before. They catch up on new things, reminisce on old times and tell embarrassing stories. It’s fun for the most part, but as the liquor wears off, Stiles can feel himself stiffening up again. His shoulders are tight and he’s forcing himself to smile again. When his phone buzzes in his pocket, he feels his whole body tense.

‘ **So when are you going to notice me? Stop pretending like I’m not here. –L** ’

He discreetly sticks his phone back into his jacket and glances across the table. Lydia isn’t even looking at him. This is too much. He needs another drink. 

“I’ll be back,” he tells Malia. “I’m going to get another beer.”

Her frown is awkward and innocent, like she can’t manage a few minutes by herself with their friends. She doesn’t say anything though, so he takes it as a sign that it’s okay. It’s hard to tell sometimes.

He orders a jack and coke, no ice, because fuck beer. God knows he needs something strong. He wants to recreate the feeling of being calm, of not feeling like he needs to be on edge constantly. He doesn’t expect to see Lydia behind him when he turns around. She points outside and for a moment he wavers. A quivering voice in the back of his mind tells him to go back to the table, but he drowns it out. He can spare a few minutes for a friend.

Outside is cold and it smells like cigarettes, something else he’s grown all too familiar with lately. The soft orange lighting makes Lydia’s face glow and accentuates her hair color. Somehow she still manages to look pretty.

His first instinct is to apologize. He starts explaining himself immediately but he’s not really sure what to say. “Sorry about that, I didn’t…I just—”

“Are you okay?”

“ _What?_ ” That’s the second time he’s been asked that today. It’s just weird. Nobody ever asks him if he’s okay anymore.

“ _Are you okay?_ ” 

“Yeah, w-why wouldn’t I be?” He starts fixing his clothes just in case, “Do I not look okay?”

“Are you serious? You’ve been acting weird all night. Usually we can’t beg you to shut up and stay still. Suddenly you’re the most laid back person here. Is something going on?”

This is when panic starts to set in. His hands are sweaty again. His mind races while he tries to think and translate his thoughts into words. “No, everything’s fine. It was kind of a long drive though. I’m just tired.”

Lydia stares back at him with narrowed eyes.It makes him uncomfortable, like she can see past his lies, but that’s stupid. Lydia Martin may be a genius, and one of his best friends, but she’s no lie detector. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

He puts on a smirk only because he feels like that’s what the old him would’ve done last year or even just last semester, “I think you’d know if I was lying.”

Her eyes roll, but she’s smiling. “You’re an idiot, but as long as you’re okay…I’ve missed you.”

 _Thank God that worked_. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels, hand gripping his cup for dear life as he watches his own breath. “I’ve missed you too.” 

“Why didn’t you see any of us last time?” she asks. She sounds sad. He feels like an asshole, especially because he knows he’s about to lie. 

“I was busy. I had some big exams to study for and some errands to run in only a few days.”

“I get it, a lot to do, not enough time. About time Stiles Stilinski started growing up.”

“You sound surprised.”

“No,” she smiles, “Just waiting for this day. I know you’re busy becoming a new found adult and all, but do you think you could remember not to be stranger? I don’t like having to pester you with messages to get you to talk to me.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” and this time he really is sorry, at least about the last part. “Maybe we could get together next week, get coffee or something?” 

He’s not sure how he’ll be able to maneuver that one, but he’ll try and think of something. It seems stupid that he has to figure out how to hang out with one of his friends, but he’s not delusional either. He knows what his life is and how it’s going to be.

Lydia stands on her tip toes and places a soft kiss on his cheek before heading towards the door, “I’d like that.”

He opens his mouth to yell back a quick reply but the voice he hears isn’t his own.

“What the hell are you doing?”

 _Malia_.

He can practically hear his own heart beating frantically in his chest. God, he’s _already_ terrified. “Malia I—”

“What the fuck was that? What were you even doing out here?” 

“We were just talking!” he shouts, exasperation building up inside him.

Malia’s already walking off in the direction of the street. She’s fuming. He should let her blow off steam, but he finds himself behind her begging and trying to explain. He’s pathetic really.

“Just talking? To _Lydia?_ Do you think I’m stupid Stiles? She kissed you!”

“ _On the cheek!_ ” 

“Yeah this time!” she yells, taking a left turn. She’s walking back to the house, _his_ house. He just prays his dad is gone already. He wouldn’t want him to hear them fighting. He hopes the people in the neighborhood don’t hear and call the police. 

“I swear we weren’t doing anything!” he yells. She’s already got her key in the door, opening it and walking in. He suddenly regrets giving her that key back in high school. He runs after her as she heads towards the stairs. He hopes they’ll slow her down some so he can actually keep up with her.

“But you want to right? I know you still like her Stiles! You think I don’t know that you guys were together all summer? How much do you need to see each other!”

“We’re friends!”

“You’re _my_ boyfriend!” She turns and points at her chest as she stomps down the hall. He attempts to follow her into his bedroom, sticking his hand out to try and stop the door from closing before it slams. It doesn’t slam at least; instead it closes right on his hand. “Go away!” 

His brings his hand to his chest. It’s throbbing. He just prays it isn’t broken because he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to explain this. “Go away? _It’s my fucking room!_ ”

She doesn’t say anything back and his hand hurts too much for him to try and bang on the door and force his way in. Instead, he tries to find an ice pack or anything that’s going to stop the throbbing. He finds a frozen bag of broccoli and part of him wants to be happy that his dad even keeps vegetables around now that he’s gone…instead he wonders if his dad still keeps anything else?

Stiles uses his good hand to open the cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for: _a bottle of Jack Daniels_. Perfect. He prefers Jack Daniels Honey, but whatever, he’ll take it. He struggles to twist off the top and brings the bottle to his lips. It burns but it feels lovely. It’s all he can focus on. He knows if he drinks enough, it’ll numb not only the feeling in his hand, but his entire body. It always makes everything better, like the best friend he doesn’t need, but still has. 

Another long pull burns his throat. He sets the bottle on the counter and wonders how long it’ll take before the pain settles this time.

“Are you _drinking?_ ”

His heart stops and he slowly turns his head over his shoulder.

“Really Stiles? You don’t even care do you?”

“Malia no, I—”

“You _what?_ God, why am I even with you?” she yells, “You’re such a selfish fucking— _are you sleeping with her?_ ” She takes several steps into the kitchen and Stiles steps back until he hits the wall.

“What? With who, Lydia? No. Malia calm down. You sound irrational!”

“Irrational? _You’re_ cheating but _I’m_ irrational,” she grabs the bottle Stiles had his lips pressed to just seconds before, “I’ll show you fucking irrational.”

The glass shatters into hundreds of pieces and rains down on top of him as he ducks in an attempt to shield himself. There’s glass on him and on the floor. Everything’s wet. “Who the fuck is going to clean this up?” he yells. His dad is going to be home in the morning.

“Why don’t you ask Lydia to come do it?”

“Jesus fucking Christ! I’m not sleeping with—”

The boot hits his stomach before he can even finish. The frozen bag hits the floor just before his body. He can’t breathe.

It seems to last forever. She hits aims for any and every part of his body. He cradles his hand into his chest and just waits. He knows from experience that fighting back doesn’t help anything. One time he caught her hand when she swung at him. She broke his fingers. He’s learned it’s better to just take it. He _always_ takes it.

It only lasts a few minutes and then she slows down, seeming to tire for a moment. Stiles pushes himself up despite the pain in his hand and runs. He books it to the bathroom and locks the door immediately. His heart is pounding. He’s shaking. He’s terrified and he feels lucky he’s still has the power to run at all. He remembers the time he tripped trying to run from a beating back at school and twisted his ankle. She’d stomped on him until she bruised three of his ribs. He claimed he got mugged walking back to campus. He didn’t know who had done it. He didn’t want to press charges.

Sliding down the bathroom door, tears brim his eyes. _What the fuck is wrong with me_ , he thinks. Why is he still here?

This isn’t the first time, definitely won’t be the last. The first time she’d ever struck him was last semester, right before summer break. He’d been so caught off guard. He should’ve said something then but he hadn’t. Instead he’d avoided her most of the Summer and then let her convince him it wouldn’t happen again. She’d told him it had only happened because he’d messed up. He couldn’t even remember what he did, but it was something stupid, staying out too late at a party or talking to another girl or something.

She didn’t touch him again until they got back to campus. It only took about a week, but he’d fallen asleep waiting for her to come over. She’d ended up waiting around outside for ten minutes. She’d assumed he’d been in there with another girl and when he finally heard his phone and answered the door, she’d punched him. He’d been so surprised he couldn’t do anything. Obviously he couldn’t hit her back, not that he would even think of doing that. They both knew that. She’d yelled, gone on and on about how he was ‘so fucking stupid’. She’d verbally beat him down until even a jury in America would’ve considered this his fault; that he’d deserved to be punished over something that had seemed so trivial. Later she’d apologized, claiming she wouldn’t have to do things like that if he just acted right.

He felt so fucking stupid.

She beat him and he let her. That’s what she would say too. _If he wasn’t in the wrong, why would he let her do it?_ He had to feel guilty about screwing up. He’d felt guilty enough to let her bruise his ribs, give him countless black eyes, break two of his fingers, sprain his ankle, give him countless cuts and bruises. One time she’d even hit him over the head with a bottle. His ears had been ringing for days.

Nobody felt _that damn guilty_.

After a few minutes of dry heaving and crying, he pulls himself up and slowly unbuttons his shirt. There’s old bruises, deep purple, almost black in color. They’re from a week or two ago. That time it had been her fists. New bruises are forming around his stomach from where she kicked him. Even the slightest amount of pressure seems to hurt. He wonders what he’s doing and why this keeps happening? Why hasn’t he said something?

“Stiles!” Malia shouts, pounding from the other side of the door. She’s crying. _He_ got assaulted, but _she’s_ crying. “Stiles open the door please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hit you but you made me—”

 _He made her_.

It’s his fault. It’s _always_ his fault. 

_If he wasn’t so reckless. If he wasn’t so weak. If he wasn’t so stupid_. It’s always something that he could be doing differently. In the beginning things weren’t even remotely this bad. Now it seemed he couldn’t even blink without ensuing her wrath. He wishes things could go back to the way they were…before the yelling and the hitting. He tries not to blame her. Finding out she was adopted last year had been hard on her but…but why did she have to take it out on him?

“I saw you talking to her and she kissed your cheek. I…you made me so mad. I won’t do it again… _Baby?_ ”

Stiles scoffs to himself. Malia always says that. He may be a lot of things, but he’s not dumb enough to actually believe her. He knows that she’s not going to stop anytime soon. She’ll be putting her hands on him again next week…and that’s only if he’s lucky. 

It’s almost infuriating really. She tears him all the way down and he’s in so deep at this point he keeps allowing her to do it. He _believes_ her. He really thinks he deserves it. He knew sometimes relationships hurt but he didn’t think they were supposed to hurt this bad. Scott and Kira seemed happy. Isaac looked at Allison liked he was seeing her for the first time every day. Boyd and Erica had been dating longer than anybody. Why was it that after almost five years, he and Malia didn’t feel the same way. They’d only gotten worse. But he couldn’t leave. He cared for her anyway.

It was toxic. Anyone could see that. It made him want to throw up. Instead he inhaled deeply and opened the door. She was standing on the other side looking broken up like a kicked puppy, as if she _really_ felt bad about it. She played the part perfectly.

“ _Stiles I…_ ”

His bruises are in full view. Every one, painted on him as if actually part of his own skin. She’s trying to avert her eyes, but they’re hard to miss. He’s glad she can see them, what _she’s_ done to him.

“I’m going outside. I think you should leave,” Stiles requests bitterly. It’s the least she can do.

The cold air against his warm skin is refreshing. With his uninjured hand he feels around his pocket and pulls out a box of cigarettes. He doesn’t smoke them everyday, but they have an interesting way of elevating his buzz after a few drinks. He even manages to put one in his lips and light it without dropping anything.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he hears as he sucks in his first drag. It’s minty and soothing.

“I’m not—I don— _Lydia?_ What are you—”

“You left. I wanted to see if you were—what the hell happened to you?” And fuck, he hadn’t expected anyone else to see him without his shirt on. He looks like he just went six rounds in a kick boxing ring.

Lydia comes closer, concern plastered on her face as she checks reaches out to examine a bruise on his cheek. “Are you okay? What’s wrong with you hand? Stiles what happened?” 

He instinctively flinches away. What is he going to say? He hadn’t expected to be put on the spot like this. “I ugh…I’m fine. It’s nothing.” God he’s an idiot, he can’t even lie right. 

Her face says she’s buying none of it. 

“I swear I…I got into a fight last week on campus.”

“Uh-huh, and even if that actually explained the old bruises, what about these news ones that are forming? And your hand? That was fine at the bar earlier.”

He struggles to the find words to form a believable lie. Suddenly his front door opens and buys him a little more time. Malia walks out with a bag draped over her shoulder. “I’m going to Peter’s,” she says, referring to the father she’d only realized she had the year before. She seems almost sad at first, but when she looks up and sees Lydia her manner completely changes. She doesn’t even attempt to hide her disdain. 

Stiles and Lydia watch a car pull up and Malia get in before it rides off leaving them both alone again. His cigarette is half ash at this point. It’s such a waste.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Lydia repeats with a little bass in her voice. He knows that she’s serious. “What happened? Where did you get these bruises?”

He exhales a small puff, “I don’t want to talk about it.” He can only imagine what Malia would do to him if he said anything.

“Then why did you leave?”

“Malia was ready to go.”

“Does this have anything to do with her being mad about us talking outside?”

“No. What makes you think she was mad?”

“She was yelling at you when I went in.” Stiles hadn’t even known she heard anything. He hopes she didn’t tell anyone else. Why is she so damn observant?

“We had a fight. It happens.” 

“Will you at least let me take you to go get your hand x-rayed?”

“It’s fine.” That’s a lie. It actually hurts like a bitch, but he can still move it, so he’s assuming it’s not broken. He isn’t in the mood to deal with any hospitals or doctor’s asking questions. 

“Let me bandage it at least.” It isn’t a question. He knows she isn’t going to leave until he lets her do something. It might at least stop the throbbing.

Stiles flicks the butt of his cigarette. He hardly got to enjoy it. “Fine.” 

XXX

“Does this happen a lot?”

He peeks up and blinks twice, “Does _what_ happen a lot?” As if he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Lydia Martin is nothing if not a genius. There’s no doubt in his mind that she knew what was going on between him and Malia as soon as she laid eyes on him. She’s just waiting for him to say it, confirm it really.

“The fighting…the fighting turning _physical_.” 

“I’ve never touched her,” he defends immediately, forgetting he’s not the one on trial. It’s hard to remember sometimes.

“I wouldn’t be in here cleaning you up if I thought you had.”

The silence that follows is painfully tense. He knows what she’s thinking. She’ll tell him to get help, to tell somebody. She’ll explain to him that he doesn’t deserve this, that it isn’t okay. He’ll say that he loves Malia. Lydia will tell him that this isn’t love. 

Objectively, he knows all of this; but it’s been months and he still hasn’t been able to leave. He doesn’t like the feeling of being afraid, wondering when he’ll mess up and how bad his punishment will be. He holds on though, because it isn’t always bad. When it’s good, it’s good. He isn’t always afraid. He isn’t always wondering.

She finishes bandaging his hand and dabs at his cuts with alcohol soaked cotton balls. “You need ice,” she tells him.

“I know.”

“And you need rest.”

“I know.”

“And you need to leave.”

He doesn’t say ‘I know’, even if that’s what he’s thinking. He looks away, completely ashamed.

“I can’t.”

XXX

He falls asleep in his room alone that night even though he couldn’t convince Lydia to leave. She all but refused actually. It was either she stay to make sure he was okay or she call the Sheriff and all of their friends to tell them what was happening. He doesn’t want that. It’s bad enough that she knows. He doesn’t need all of his friends silently judging him, knowing that he’s pathetic and weak.

He doesn’t want them thinking bad things about Malia either. She’s not a _bad person_. They’re friends who’ve known each other for years. He couldn’t be the reason that they all hate her either.

Stiles knows he’s supposed to be resting, but he spends the night tossing and turning. His mind is racing back and forth between his thoughts and fears. He could use a sleeping pill or maybe an Adderall right now, just something that would allow him to calm down enough to sleep decently. He gets maybe three hours altogether, but that goes to shit when his dad comes knocking on his door that morning. 

He groans into his pillow, “Come in!”

“Morning. Any particular reason why Lydia Martin is sleeping on our couch?” There’s obvious suspicion in his voice. He’s probably so far off it’s not even funny.

“She was tired. It was late. I told her to stay.” Only two out of three of those are accurate.

The Sheriff nods, taking it all in. “Hmm…and where’s Malia?”

“She went home.” 

“Hmm…and what happened to your face?” 

“Bar fight,” it rolls right off of his tongue before he even has a chance to realize who he’s talking to. His dad is the sheriff, the fucking sheriff of this whole stupid county. He’s not going to take this lightly. 

His brows knit as he crosses his arms. He is not pleased. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“It was nothing I swear. Just some guy harassing Lydia. She asked him to stop, he wouldn’t. I asked him. He hit me once. I hit him back. We left. It wasn’t a big deal I swear.” The lies flow all too easily but he’d rather be scolded for his made up story than tell the truth. 

The Sheriff’s hand rubs at his temples. He sighs deeply. Stiles can’t tell if it’s from disappointment or if his father is just tired. Maybe a combination? “God, you’re back _one_ night…I’m glad you were sticking up for your friend and for yourself, but please Stiles, could you try and refrain from getting into any more physical altercations while you’re home or at all, please? Not only is it a terrible look for The Sheriff’s son to be fighting, but I worry about you. I don’t want you out here getting seriously hurt or something.”

By the end of the small lecture, his stomach feels sour. The weight of the secret he’s keeping seems so much heavier than the weight of the lies he’s telling. His father has no idea just how worried he should be. If he knew, Stiles can only imagine what he’d say. He’d be so disappointed in him.

“I know dad. I promise it won’t happen again.” And he knows that it won’t, because he never got into a bar fight in the first place.

XXX

Stiles is sitting at the table with his father and a cup of coffee when Lydia wanders in sleepily. He’d loaned her a hoodie and a pair of boxers the night before. Her hair swings in perfectly aged day old curls around her fair. Even the old eyeliner around her eyes has managed to fade perfectly. He remembers why he loved her in the first place. Even when she wasn’t trying, she somehow managed to be perfect.

“Good morning Lydia.”

She smiles politely back at the Sheriff, “Good morning Sheriff Stilinski… _Stiles._ ”

“Hi.” He can hardly even look her in the eye. He doesn’t want to see whatever screwed up expression she’d give him anyway. Obviously she’s upset with him. He doesn’t like that she is, but at least he isn’t afraid of her. He doesn’t feel the need to beg or plead and hope that she’ll calm down. She isn’t going to hit him just because she’s not happy with him. It’s a weird feeling. Familiar, like that’s how things are supposed to be. 

“Would you like some coffee?” The Sheriff is up retrieving a cup before she can answer yes or no. She nods anyway. “I hear you had a long night.”

Stiles glances up briefly to see Lydia looking right at him with surprise on her face. She thinks he told, that he admitted to his father what was happening.

“Stiles told you?”

“About the bar fight? Yes. I wish it hadn’t escalated the way it did, but I’m glad nothing happened to you. I know that men at bars can sometimes be a little too forward. I made it clear I’d prefer he not do it again though.”

Her expression quickly changes from surprised to irritated. Stiles hides his face behind his cup of coffee.

“Stiles can get you sugar or creamer or anything else you might need. I’m going to try and get some sleep before my phone starts buzzing.” He sets the cup down in front of her and leaves.

Stiles gets up to grab coffee accessories before she can even ask for anything. He just doesn’t want to have to look at her face because he knows what’s coming.

“A bar fight, really? You told your father you were defending my honor?” 

“What was I supposed to tell him? I fell down the stairs? Or maybe I ran into a door?” 

“ _You could tell him the truth!_ ” she whispers aggressively. 

He sets sugar and creamer down in front of her. It’s some ridiculously sweet flavor his dad shouldn’t be drinking anyway, thin mint or something. “That’s fucking stupid. I’m not doing that.”

“So you’re just going to keep letting your girlfriend assault you on a regular basis? I saw you two together last night Stiles. It’s not like before. You weren’t happy. You don’t even look at her the same. You’re not in love with her. You’re _afraid_ of her. You couldn’t even enjoy yourself once Malia got there.” 

“Please don’t try and tell me how I feel about someone. You don’t know _everything_.”

“I’m only telling you what I saw, Stiles. But fine, if you don’t trust me, ask Scott. I’m sure he’ll say almost the same thing.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t trust you.”

“No I get it, we’ve been friends forever, but she’s your girlfriend and I’m just your friend. I couldn’t possibly know anything about you. I forgot my place.”

He sighs, feeling like an asshole. He’s not really upset with her. They both know that. “Lydia, that’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to say it.” 

He runs his hands over his face. How the hell did he even get to this point? Everything was fine when nobody knew. It was his problem to deal with. There were no outside opinions conflicting with his own. No one was telling him about his relationship. Up until last night he was living in ignorant bliss pretending as if nothing was wrong and everything was normal. 

“I should probably get going,” Lydia finally says, interrupting their awkward silence. He feels like an idiot. Why is he fighting with her? Lydia isn’t the problem. She didn’t do anything to him. She isn’t the reason his face is bruised or that his hand is bandaged. What is he doing? 

He follows her out to the living room where she’s quickly gathering her things. “Lydia wait, please.”

Back towards him, she pulls his hoodie off and tosses it on the chair. If the circumstances were different, his inner teen would be ridiculously excited to see even this miniscule part of her exposed skin, but currently it’s the farthest thing from his brain. 

“No,” she pulls lasts nights shirt over her head.

“Can’t we talk about this?”

“What else is there to talk about? You’re dating someone that hurts you. I don’t think that’s okay and if I stay, it’ll be perpetrating the idea that I think it is.” 

“Are you going to say something?”

“That’s it, isn’t it? You just want to make sure I’m not going to walk out of here, get in my car and call Scott? Maybe Melissa or your dad?”

That’s not what he meant at all. He feels stupid for even asking. “No-no, just…give me some time to think about it please? I’ve been with her a long time Lydia; you have to understand this isn’t easy for me. Just let me figure some things out. Give me until next week,” he begs. It’s reminiscent of a conversation with Malia, only he isn’t cowering or trying to cover his face. 

“Please?” and he sure he probably looks pathetic, like a kicked puppy. There are circles under his eyes. He’s got a bum hand and bruises everywhere, like who wouldn’t feel bad for him in this moment?

Lydia glares, but it softens as she gives in reluctantly. “Fine. Next week. Next week you tell me what you’re going to do. Yes, you love her, and I’m sorry to make you choose. I just don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

He nods even though he really wants to tell her it’s not of her business.

“I want you to get out, to get help but I can’t tell you what to do…And I can’t be in your life knowing that you’re subjecting yourself to that. It’s me or her Stiles.”

It isn’t fair he thinks. But what he’s asking isn’t fair either. He wants her to keep something like this a secret from his family and his friends. These aren’t just any kind of friends. They’d literally die for him and vice versa, maybe even Jackson. They’d want to _know_ if something bad was happening to Stiles. They’d want to _help_ him. It’s not fair of him to ask her to fake it, to still be his friend and treat him and Malia the same, knowing what’s going on behind closed doors. 

He can’t think of anything else to say before she walks out. It’s probably a combination of the fact that she’s right and the fact that there’s no arguing with her anyway. Even though he knows she’s right, he still has no idea what he’s going to do. 

XXX

Every time his phone rings he ignores it. They’re mostly texts from Malia—she wants to see him, needs to talk to him, why isn’t he answering, is he with _her_? He gets one or two messages from Scott asking why he left early. He tells him it was nothing major, just that Malia was ready to go. They make plans to meet up later this week. He hopes the bruise on his face will be gone by then.

He doesn’t hear anything from Lydia. 

He’s been checking his phone every few minutes out of paranoid habit just to make sure he doesn’t miss a call or a text or a snap chat or anything. The more he waits, the more he wants to hear from her. He wants to apologize and he’s not even sure why because he didn’t do anything wrong. Still, he hopes she’ll forgive him. He’s known her for years. They’ve been friends forever. He’s loved her forever.

He _still_ loves her.

And he isn’t ready for her to walk out of his life. 

XXX

When he really thinks about it, choosing between them isn’t as hard as he thought. Lydia has been a part of his life for years. He’s loved her since she was eight. She’s been one of his best friends since before he even knew Malia. He can live without Malia. He can’t even imagine life without Lydia. It’s not that he loves Malia more or he can’t leave her. It’s just that he’s complacent with her, maybe even a little afraid. She’s the only relationship he’s ever had. They have a relationship _and_ a history he will never able to get rid of, even if the last few months revolve around him fearing for his safety. He knows what he has to do. The thing is…he can’t just leave her. He can’t abandon Malia. And even after what she’s done, he doesn’t think Lydia would want him to either. So he does the one thing he’s knows he’s good at, research.

He shows up to Malia’s with a folder full of papers and rings the doorbell. He doesn’t tell Lydia he’s going. He figures he’ll tell her when they meet up just in case and she tried to talk him out of it. He doesn’t tell any of his friends. He doesn’t want them to know about what’s happening and think differently about either of them. It’s just a simple conversation. He figures he can handle it.

Malia looks surprised to see him when she answers, but happy all the same. “Stiles!” long arms are wrapped around him, before she pulls back and frowns, “What are you doing here? Why haven’t you been answering my phone calls?”

“I ugh…I’m sorry,” and what is he apologizing for, _really?_ He doesn’t have to apologize anymore. “I think we should talk.”

Those words are never followed by anything good. Everyone knows that. Malia’s anxiety is present in her face but she agrees and leads him up to her room anyway.

“Look Stiles,” she starts defensively, “I’m sorry okay? I’m sorry about your hand and freaking out on you or whatever, but you know how I feel about you and other girls. I just…if you would stop—”

“No,” he says firmly. It almost sounds wrong. It’s been a long time since he actually challenged her with conviction, “You’re not going to blame what happened on me. _It wasn’t my fault_.”

He spent a lot of time on Google the night before. Every website made sure to say the same thing, ‘ _It wasn’t his fault_ ’. It’s hard to believe when you’ve been convinced otherwise, but he keeps telling it to himself in hopes that he’ll eventually be able to believe it. 

“I didn’t make you hit me Malia. I didn’t—I _don’t_ deserve this and I can’t keep doing it.”

She cocks her head to the side, utterly confused. He hasn’t ever really fought back before. Sometimes he yells or challenges her, but it never lasts. Of course this would be new to her. “You can’t…what are you talking about? Are you breaking up with me?”

He feels his heart beat growing faster. His legs are shaking but he fights to steady them. _I’m going to be okay_ , he keeps telling himself, _be strong, don’t yell, nothing bad is going to happen_. 

“Malia I—”

“Is this because of Lydia?”

He feels his throat try and close up on him. He doesn’t want Malia to be mad at Lydia. He doesn’t want anything to happen to her because of him. What if Malia tries to hurt her too? “What? No. Malia this has nothing to do with her. This is me, all me. _My decision_.”

She glares at him, as if assessing whether or not she can actually believe what’s he’s saying. He swallows hard and hopes that he’s convincing.

“So what now, huh?” There’s anger in her voice, “Are you going to tell on me? You going to tell your dad? You think anyone’s going to believe you?”

He opens his folder, trying to steady his hands and calm his breathing as he does. “N-no, I don’t want anything to happen to you. I want you to get help. I found some places you can go to and people you can see.” He tries to hand her some of the information he printed out. She grabs them from his hand and tosses them aside without a glance.

“I don’t need help _Stiles_ ,” she spits his name out like it’s disgusting, “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

He stutters nervously, attempting to create space between the two of them as he steps back. He told himself he wouldn’t be afraid, but old habits die hard. “Th-that’s not what I’m saying.”

“I wouldn’t have had to hurt you if you hadn’t _made_ me. You had to learn!” her voice is strained, frustrated almost. It’s like she really believes what she did was okay.

“Learn what? All I learned was that this is the kind of relationship I don’t want to be in. I’m afraid of my own girlfriend.”

Suddenly Malia looks at him with wide, almost sad brown eyes. _She’s faking_ , he tells himself. _Don’t feel bad for her. She’s trying to trick you_. _The articles said she would do that. Don’t believe her._

“ _Afraid_ of me?” 

“How did you expect me to feel? I definitely don’t feel safe!”

“Why did you stay with me then? Why did you wait until _now?_ What changed?”

“I don’t know! You. Us… _me?_ Does it matter? I don’t want this anymore.”

“You don’t love me?” She asks, her voice quivers. She looks like a victim, not like someone capable of attacking and hurting somebody. She’s sad and she’s scared, scared that he’s going to leave. Then who will she take her anger out on?

His stares down at his hands, rubbing them back and forth across each other, “I-I didn’t say that.”

“But you want to break up with me?”

This time when he speaks, he’s less confident. There’s less conviction in his voice. He doesn’t have the same ‘this isn’t my fault attitude’. She’s applying pressure and he’s cracking. “Because you’re hurting me.”

“Stiles I said I was sorry!”

He flinches at her tone. “You always say that you’re sorry.”

She reaches forward gently so she doesn’t startle him and takes his hand, “Because I always mean it.”

His gaze shifts between his hand in her palm and her face. She looks genuine but…no, _no!_ This isn’t what he came here to do. He can’t let her convince him otherwise, not again. He knows she’s not telling the truth. She will hurt him again, unless she gets help. He just wants her to get help.

He jerks his hand away and takes a deep breath. This has gone on way too long and if it goes on any longer he might do something he regrets, like stay. “Please Malia, just look at the papers I gave you. Consider it? I wouldn’t want to hear about you getting yourself into trouble or winding up—”

“Hear about me?” she repeats, “What do you mean _hear_ about me?”

“I told you I came over here because I can’t do this anymore. I’m leaving,” he maneuvers his hand behind him and slowly turns the doorknob. He feels himself sweating. He’s scared, like he gets when she’s angry. “And if you won’t go see someone I can’t—I can’t talk to you anymore. I can’t see you. I can’t be friends with you _. Nothing_.” 

He instinctively moves back as she processes what he’s just said. Each step is slow and small. He doesn’t even look behind him. He’ll turn around when he gets to the stairs. Right now he doesn’t want make any sudden or large movements. He’s made his point. There’s no need to stick around and see the damage.

“So now I’m nothing to you?” she moves forward. He moves faster. “And you’re giving me options? What about our friends? Can I not talk to them? Are your going to turn them against me? What are you going to tell everyone if I don’t go? If I just stop coming around, what are you going to say?”

“I was…I was just hoping you would go. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to say anything.”

“And what? We were just going to pretend that this was a mutual break up and keep being friends? What about at school Stiles? We go to the same school. I went there for you!”

He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He’s starting to think that coming here by himself might have been a really stupid idea. He should’ve thought this through better. 

“I can’t believe that you would do this to me!” He can’t tell if she’s more angry, upset or devastated. All he knows is that he just wants to leave and he’d prefer to do it in one piece. “ _Why_ would you do this to me?”

“I’m not doing anything to you,” he says, “I’m doing this _for_ me.”

Her lips tighten into a thin line and her whole body seems to tighten with anger. “After everything we’ve been through…you’re a selfish fucking asshole.”

He’s about to turn around, to run; Stiles doesn’t even realize he’s that close to the edge of the steps until her arms are out and he’s already falling.

XXX

_“Where the hell is my son?”_

_“Is he going to be okay?”_

_“Why didn’t he tell anyone?”_

_“I knew. I should’ve said something.”_

_“This isn’t anyone’s fault.”_

_“What’s going to happen to her?”_

Out of all the jumbled messes he hears bits and pieces of, that’s all he’s been able to put together in the past few days. He hadn’t really opened his eyes, but he’d come in and out of consciousness. He remembers small things like his head hurting really bad or being around a lot of flashing red and blue lights. It’s all kind of confusing, but he’s clear on one thing when he opens his eyes. He’s in a hospital.

He blinks a few times just so his eyes can get adjusted to the light. It isn’t particularly bright, but it’s more light than he’s seen in God knows how long. 

“Stiles?” he hears as he shifts around in the uncomfortably stiff bed. _What the hell?_ He’s literally just waking up and it’s like this person knew it before he did.

“ _Stiles?_ ” they repeat. It’s Lydia. She’s sitting on the edge of a seat in the corner staring at him. Scott is there. His dad is there too and so is Melissa, dressed in her scrubs. 

He tries to smile. His face hurts to moves and his voice is raspy from not being used, “ _Hey_ ”.

The Sheriff seems to let out a sigh of relief. Stiles wonders exactly how long he’s been holding his breath. He has a ton of questions but his throat is too scratchy to ask them all. Melissa practically reads his mind and pulls a hospital cup from the table, bringing the straw to his lips.

“Dude you had us scared,” Scott tries to smile but it’s strained. His words are both playful and worried. 

Stiles finds himself ready to apologize out of habit, remembering that it was always easier to apologize than to argue when it hits him. He’s in the hospital _now_ , but the last place he remembers being was Malia’s. He went to talk to her. They fought and she…

 _She pushed him down the stairs_. 

His breathing begins to hitch. It hurts. His whole body hurts. “W-where’s Malia?”

Is she there? Do they know? He’s lying in a hospital bed surrounded by people and yet he feels terrified and alone. This wasn’t the usual kick to the ribs or blow to the face. Stairs were serious. He feels a little dramatic in thinking that he could’ve broken his neck, but what if he had? One wrong twist or turn and he could’ve actually died.

Everyone in the room seems to grimace. His father speaks up first. “We arrested her but she made bail. She’s at home.” His heart sinks. “But she’s not allowed within one hundred feet of you. She’s not coming anywhere near you again I promise.”

So they all know. The whole damn town probably knows by now. It’s fucking humiliating. Part of him feels relief…but part of him is sad. This is the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. “What’s going to happen to her?” 

His father shrugged, “Depends I suppose. She might have to face a trial.”

It felt weird to hear. He thought he should feel relieved, he wanted to, but he didn’t. He didn’t want her to go to jail or be punished in a way that ruined her life before it had really even started. Was that stupid? It felt really fucking stupid.

“She needs help,” he says. Everyone around him frowns slightly. “She’s not a bad person. She just…can’t we do anything?”

The sheriff wants to argue. Stiles knew from the look on his face. He frowns in return, trying to beg with his eyes. He doesn’t necessarily want to see her again or be with her. He just wants her to have a chance, maybe even be able to be the nice girl she used to be for someone else. He’d hate for what he’d experienced to happen to someone else.

“I can’t make you any promises, it’s out of my hands really, but I’ll see if I can make some phone calls or something,” his father offers reluctantly. He knows it’s only to appease him because he’s lying in a hospital bed. 

He probably sounds pathetic to them. He’s sure they would’ve given him anything he asked for right now just because they felt bad for him. He couldn’t think of anything big, but he could think of one small thing.

“Could I have a few minutes with Lydia?” Everyone looks up, but Melissa’s the first to nod. They all know his father won’t leave unless she makes him. She practically has to drag him out, but he goes.

“Lydia look,” he starts as he tries to sit up. His body protests immediately. He’s sore and his chest is aching. He doesn’t know what kind of injuries he’s sustained from his fall, but his body hurts from even the slightest movement.

Lydia stares, her brow furrowed and her body rigid, “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was just trying to sit up.”

“What?” she asks with her eyebrow raised, “No! Going over to Malia’s by yourself! _What the hell were you thinking Stiles?_ ” She’s yelling but she doesn’t sound angry. It was more frantic and concerned. That’s almost worse honestly. He’d rather she be mad than upset.

“I was going to break up with her. I didn’t think anything was going to happen,” She rolls her eyes, “I know, I wasn’t thinking. I…I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Upset me? Stiles I…I’m sorry, I’m not upset. I was just so fucking worried about you. When Scott called and told me what happened I felt terrible. If something had happened to you, something _worse_ , I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. I should’ve said something. I should’ve _told_ someone.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” she frowns. “Stiles look at you. You’re lying a hospital bed because your girlfriend pushed you down a flight of stairs and I knew what she was doing. Instead of telling someone I tried to make you choose between us. What was I thinking? I might as well have put you here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He isn’t prepared for her to start apologizing or crying. She isn’t bawling but tears are slowly pooling in her eyes and falling. Usually when Malia cried or apologized it wasn’t because she cared, at least not about him. He knew now that she was never actually sorry. She would just do it so he’d forgive her and allow her to hurt him all over again. 

He puts his hands out in front of him, “Please don’t cry. You didn’t do anything—”

“Exactly. I should’ve _done_ something.”

“That’s not what I meant Lydia. This isn’t your fault or my fault,” and that’s the first time he’s ever said that and actually believed it.

“She could’ve _killed_ you.”

“ _But she didn’t right?_ ” he offers with a smile and a playful tone to his voice. Lydia stares back at him, clearly unamused by his attempt to lighten the mood. “Come on Lydia, I’m okay. Everything’s gonna be okay now. I’m safe and I’m not going back.”

She rolls her eyes and then dabs underneath them with the edges of her fingers. She’s done crying he supposes. “I don’t think anyone here would let you.”

“Maybe I need that.”

“You wouldn’t…would you?” 

He frowns and stares down at his hands. He can’t look at her when he shrugs, “No, I don’t think so. I don’t _want_ to, but I have before, you know? What if…what if I can’t get over her?”

“Do you love her?”

He hesitates for a moment. He knows he does. He just feels like an idiot admitting it. “Well yeah…I just—”

“Do you love me?”

Stiles stares at her, wondering what just happened. Is she being for real or was that a joke? He thought they were having a serious moment. “Wait what? Lydia I don’t…” 

“Just answer the question Stiles, do you still love me?”

He isn’t sure what’s going on. Is this a trap? It isn’t fair to ask him to him these questions. He did just wake up in the hospital. Still, he sucks in a deep breath and nods reluctantly, “Y-yeah. I do.”

He almost feels ashamed to admit that he still has feelings for her after all this time, after Malia. But he wouldn’t have gone over to Malia’s to leave her if it wasn’t for Lydia. She reminded him that he was supposed to love himself too.

She smiles softly and runs her fingers over his hand, “Well when you love someone, sometimes you never get over them and that’s okay.”

He smiles back at her and for a moment the silence is sweet and oddly intimate. He immediately stops himself from thinking anything of it. This is terrible timing. “Really, you asked me that just to prove a point? Now I’m embarrassed. What would you have done if I had said no?” he jokes, though he’s kind of serious.

She giggles as she stands up and places her hand on his cheek before planting a kiss on his forehead. “We should probably let everyone back in now,” is all she says to that.

XXX

They make him stay for almost a week, something about observations and internal bleeding and trauma. He doesn’t really care. He’s got a cracked rib that make it hurt to breathe, but they can’t really do anything about it. They just keep telling him to be happy it didn’t puncture his lung. His cheekbone is fractured and swollen enough to make him mildly self-conscious and the splint on his wrist is just an all-around pain in the ass when it comes to using his hand. But honestly, having to be questioned by the police is almost worse than actually lying in a bed all day looking like one giant bruise with a perpetual body ache.

He’s tired of all the questions—questions from his dad, from his friends, his doctors, the police.

_‘What happened?’_

_‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’_

_‘Why didn’t you leave?’_

_‘What did she do to you?’_

_‘Why?’_

He wishes he had all the answers, the right ones at least. But telling the truth and telling people what they want to hear are two completely different things. At least at home he can choose not to be bothered if he doesn’t want to be. 

He’s lying on the couch, quite uncomfortably, flipping through Christmas specials on TV. Withs the holiday only a few days away, it seems to be all anyone cares about. Everyone on TV is happy and doing dumb shit like buying gifts and putting popcorn on string. Like seriously, who even does that anymore? They looked so pleased with themselves. It’s fucking depressing.

How is he supposed to enjoy the festive season when he just got out of the hospital, it hurts to move, everyone thinks he’s some sort of fragile child incapable of taking care of himself and he’s pretty sure his ex-girlfriend is about to get the death sentence if anyone else has anything to say on the matter. His break is off to a pretty shitty start.

When the doorbell rings, he ignores it. It’s probably the mailman with a package or another nosey neighbor trying to see if the rumors about what happened to the Sheriff’s son are true. He doesn’t expect to hear Lydia’s voice faintly drift in beyond the door frame. “Stiles? I’m pretty sure you’re in there and you can hear me out here yelling like a lunatic. Open the door please.” 

He pushes himself from the bed with a sudden swiftness he didn’t know he was even capable of in this state and pulls open the door. She’s standing there still managing to look adorable despite the freezing temperatures, only Lydia Martin. 

“I um…I just wanted to check on you,” she says, almost unsure. It’s an unfamiliar trait on her.

He smiles in response, suddenly nervous and feeling like he’s back in high school all over again. “Thanks. I…do you want to come in?” He’s not sure what else to say. Usually he can’t find a way to shut up and he doesn’t care, but now he can’t think of one right thing and the last thing he wants is to push her away by saying the wrong thing…whatever that is.

He’s afraid she’ll say she can’t stay and he hadn’t even realized until after he’d asked, that he didn’t want her to go. Thankfully, she nods and follows him into the living room sitting beside him on the couch. He tries to hide discomfort. He’s been lying down all day and to sit up makes his already sore body ache.

“Are you okay?”

She notices almost immediately. It’s clear he wasn’t as good an actor as he thought. He isn’t sure what to say, instead he just makes a face and shrugs.

Lydia responds with a laugh, “I’m in your spot, aren’t I? Here, lie down.”

He hesitates as she pats her own lap, allowing him to lie his head down there. It’s not that he feels uncomfortable doing so, it’s just…he still feels strange doing things he feels Malia would get upset about. It’s a force of habit just too soon to be broken. Still, Stiles takes a deep breath and allows his desire to be comfortable outweigh his irrational fears. She immediately places a hand in his hair, mindlessly running her fingers through it.

“Have you been holding up okay?”

“Yeah…it’s just weird, you know? I never thought that this was something I’d be going through, like _ever_.”

“I don’t think anybody was expecting this for either one of you. It just seems so unreal sometimes. It’s not even happening to me and I have trouble believing it. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.”

“It’s definitely not fun. It’s a bunch of questions and people bothering me, interviews, relaying the same stories over and over. I’m just so tired of talking about it and being bothered.”

He doesn’t realize how that might sound until Lydia frowns, “I’m sorry. Do you want me to…”

“Oh no, no no! Not you! You and Scott have been great. It’s just everyone and everything else. If this goes to court I have to testify. I miss the way things were,” he confesses. The sigh that follows manages to sound both heavy and empty all at the same time. 

“Things were a lot simpler in high school weren’t they?”

“Yeah life was easier when I spent my weekends playing videogames and trying to figure out how I was going to get Lydia Martin to fall in love with me,” he jokes lightheartedly. Instead of sharing his humor, her face seems to fall and she looks away.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles strains his neck to look up at her, “For what?”

“For that…for high school and the fact that you feel like you have to make jokes about it, about your feelings, just to appease me.”

“It’s just a joke Lydia, really. It was years ago. I can’t be mad at you for not reciprocating. It would be kind of unfair of me to hold that against you, don’t you think?” The idea always seemed completely juvenile. He never imagined himself as one of those guys who held a grudge against every girl who ever turned him down and he wasn’t about to start now.

“What if I wasn’t apologizing for not returning your feelings, but for waiting too long to say anything about it?”

That doesn’t make any sense. He feels like he would’ve known. If Lydia Martin had feelings for him, he would’ve known…right? “Lydia what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I liked you then and I love you now, and if I have just said something when I had realized instead of being so…well, maybe none of this would have ever happened.”

“I told you, you can’t blame yourself-”

She rolls her eyes and throws her hands up in mock defense, “I know, I _know_ …this isn’t about me.”

“That’s not what I meant. It isn’t about you because it isn’t your _fault_. High school was years ago. You can’t honestly believe that some stupid decisions you did or didn’t make back then would really still be affecting us right now,” Stiles attempts to defend.

“Why not?” she asks and doesn’t miss a beat, “They’re still affecting _you_.” 

It’s a fair enough point, although he hadn’t been expecting it. He isn’t sure how to counter that. He winds up lying there avoiding eye contact. 

“I just…I need to know if,” The anticipation kills him as Lydia pauses, “If I waited too late?” 

Part of him wants to ask her to repeat the question just so he can make sure this is really happening. This is the girl of his dreams, always has been, finally reciprocating at what might be the worst possible time. What the hell do you even say?

Slowly, Stiles pushes himself up and turns his head. If he looks up at her, he knows he won’t be able to think straight. He’ll end up getting lost in her eyes or something and won’t be able to say what’s actually on his mind. “It’s not that it’s too late,” he says and for a brief second things seem hopeful, “it’s just not the right time.” 

He peeks over his shoulder to see her reaction. He’s expecting her to look hurt and she does for a moment, but she hides it well. “I understand.”

Immediately he finds himself trying to say something to fix it, to make it sound less bad. He used to do that with Malia, but that was more because he was afraid of getting hurt, as apposed to hurting her. “I’m not saying that there won’t ever be a good time.”

“Then what are you saying?” She sounds frustrated, but Stiles gets the feeling that it’s more with herself than it is with him. With Malia, even her mistakes somehow managed to be his fault.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Are you…” she pauses and takes a deep breath. Stiles thinks he hears her breath hitch just a little, like she’s trying to force down a lump in her throat, “Are you asking me to wait?” 

Can he really ask that of her? He’s not sure how he’ll be tomorrow or next week. He can barely get a grip on how he feels today. Thoughts of Malia and how she used to punish him, what she would do to him, plague his mind every day. He’s not sure he’ll ever be completely okay.

“I don’t know if that’s fair.”

Lydia curls her lips in and squeezes his eyelids shut, clearly trying to keep it together. “But is it what you want?”

He feels selfish when he answers without hesitation, “ _Yes_.”

“Then ask,” she says, “For once do something for yourself Stiles and ask. _Ask me to wait_.”

His lips curl into a soft smile as he places her hand on his, “ _Wait?_ ”

XXX

It’s isn’t easy, but it’s easily the better decisions he’s ever made. 

Things get harder before they get easier. Stiles knew they would. He transfers to the University of Beacon Hills, a smaller college that he can go to from home. He wasn’t surprised when it was suggested. As if his dad would let him out of his sight ever again.

There isn’t a trial, which he thanks God for, but he has to relay his story what feels like a hundred times more. It’s as emotionally draining as it embarrassing. He hates having to sit in the lawyers office with her eyes on him as they discuss a plea bargain. It’s like he’s being taunted one last time and he even briefly considers asking to drop the charges just so that he can move on with his life. 

In the end he’s granted a “permanent” restraining order. It isn’t exactly permanent because it only lasts a few years, but he hopes by then he won’t have the desire to see her or be near Malia on his own anyway. She gets a mandatory thirty days in jail, which his family and friends are happy about, even though part of him feels it’s a little harsh. Stiles has always felt like jail was for monsters and even after everything’s she’s done, he can’t see her that way…even if it’s what she is. As soon as she’s released, her three year probation stint starts, including a year-long domestic batterers class. One of the worst punishments is the fact this incident will be permanently placed on her record. Every time she applies for a job or does a background check, _for the rest of her life_ , she’ll have to relive what she did to him. Eventually Stiles thinks he’ll be able to move on from this. Malia never will. 

It’s just a lot to take in. He loved her and well…she hurt him, yes, but she didn’t always. Even after it’s over, it all still seems so confusing.

Well, not _everything_. There’s one thing he can actually make sense of and that’s Lydia. Most of winter break he spends dealing with the Malia business. Lydia patiently waits in the background, offering support through messages and phone calls, the occasional visit. She doesn’t push him, but she does make sure he knows she’s there for him. It’s reassuring, but he still has a sense of space. He doesn’t feel suffocated or afraid with Lydia. Whenever Lydia’s name pops up on the screen of his phone, his heart skips a beat, but not out of fear. It’s been a while since he felt like that. 

His body heals and winter break ends. She doesn’t push or ask him questions about when he’ll be ready. She just stops by before she drives back to school. It’s only two hours away he tells himself. She’ll come back. She said she’d wait until he was ready and he wasn’t yet, but he was trying.

XXX

He talks to Lydia all the time, but he doesn’t see her again until Spring break. She tells him that everyone’s getting together to go grab a drink. It seems oddly reminiscent of their last school break, when he was all too excited to drown his feelings in a tall glass. He declines this time. Stiles hasn’t drunk since the last night they all went out together, since _Malia_. When she hears he’s not coming, she sends him a message.

‘ **Maybe we could both skip and I could just come over instead? –L** ’

She follows up with a message saying that they can watch Star Wars if he wants and he’s sold. Lydia Martin _and_ Star Wars? His seventeen year old self would’ve never imagined. His heart is racing all day until she arrives, but for once it feels good. He remembers what it felt like to genuinely miss someone and _want_ to see them. He’d forgotten. 

The first thing she notices is that she looks the same. It’s only been three months, but he was just expecting something else. It might have something to do with the fact that when he looks in the mirror, he _feels_ different. He knows he isn’t the same. Every time the thought of Malia pops into his mind assures him of that. Sometimes he’s still afraid. Sometimes he still feels nervous or hesitates before doing something, as if she’s going to come out of nowhere and cause him physical harm, even when he knows she can’t. The worst thing is, sometimes he still _wants_ to see her. He wants to apologize for what he did, for _telling_ ; he knows it’s ridiculous. Malia made him like that.

But he doesn’t have to be like that anymore. Lydia being here, even after this long, is proof of that.

“I rented the ones with Hayden Christensen because if I’m going to watch this, I need something to look at,” she jokes, crouched down in front of the TV.

Stiles hardly hears the words out of her mouth. As soon as she turns to look over her shoulder and smile at him, all he can think to say is the first thing that comes to his mind. “I’ve really missed you.” 

The minute the words leave his lips, he feels like an idiot, like he’s just made things really awkward. She pushes a stray behind her ear and blushes, “T-thanks. I missed you too.”

“I feel better,” he says as she slides onto the couch beside him. 

“You look better.”

“You think?” He hadn’t really thought he’d changed for the better. He just knew he felt and looked different.

“Well, the last time I saw you, you were still bruised and wearing a brace, so…”

“Oh yea, I guess anything is a step up from that.”

She nods, “But I’m glad you feel better. That’s good to hear.” 

There’s a silence between them. It’s not uncomfortable, but Stiles knows what they’re both really thinking about. She’s been patiently waiting for him. He knows that. He’s still amazed that she even agreed to do something like that for him. He wants to say something to her or at least about it. He wants her to know she hasn’t been waiting for nothing but he can’t find the words.

He starts the movie instead.

XXX

They make it through the first two movies fine. Lydia asks questions, seeming genuinely interested. He gladly answers them. It’s comfortable. He feels so relaxed with her, like this is how everything was supposed to be the entire time.

“You know, I thought I was going to hate every second of every one of these movies but they actually aren’t bad,” Lydia smiles, quickly getting up to change the DVDs. She shoots Stiles a smirk before adding, “I mean it’s not The Notebook but—”

“ _Lydia I don’t think you should_ …I’m sorry I…” he isn’t sure what he even wants to say, he’s just talking. He thought once he started, something would come to his mind but he just sounds like an idiot.

Lydia sighs, almost as if she knows what he’s trying to say even when he doesn’t. “Are you about to say something stupid and kill this whole moment?”

“Maybe? Probably… _yeah_ ,” Stiles admits. There’s a ninety-five percent chance he’s about to screw everything up, but he feels like he should say something. “ _I just…I’m here and you’re here and we both know what we’re doing here and it’s been months and I know what I want but I’m not sure if I’m ready and I don’t know if this is fair anymore and I—”_

“And you’re rambling?” she adds. He blushes and nods.

Slowly she crawls over to where he is on the couch and sits in front of him, taking both her hands in hers. “It’s okay Stiles. I know what you’re saying and I told you before that its fine. I want this. I can wait.”

“I know I know, but I just…how long, you know? I want to be with you. I want to be okay, but sometimes I still think about her. I flinch when someone raises their hand around me. I can’t even think about being intimate with someone without hyperventilating, afraid she’ll know I’ve been with someone else. I don’t…I don’t think you deserve that. You can do so much better than sitting around waiting for me and still getting some broken pieces of me when you do. I should’ve never asked you to do that for me.”

She just smiles and nods. He knows she heard him, but she has this look on her face that tells him she doesn’t care.

“I’ve been waiting for years Stiles,” she offers, “A little more time isn’t going to hurt me.” 

“But—”

“And if you aren’t one hundred percent, I won’t mind helping put a few pieces back together.”

He can’t find words. His eyes are welling up and he feels like if he talks, he’ll choke up on the lump is his throat and it’ll be a full on tear fest. She doesn’t say anything about it, but she strokes the back of his hand and he knows she understands.

She jumps up and grabs the remote as he wipes his eye with the back of his hand, “Now come on. We have one more movie and I need to know what happens to Anakin now or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

His lips are still curled in, trying to compose himself as he nods. She simply smiles back and he knows they have an understanding. He wonders how he got so lucky? How he’d managed to find someone like this, when only months ago he thought fearing for his safety and being ridiculed was the best relationship he’d ever have.

He’s not one hundred percent. He’s not sure when he will be, if ever, but at least he'll be with Lydia and he'll be happy. He knows he won't ever have to be afraid again and that's something to look forward to. 

**Author's Note:**

> _Title from "30 Minute Break" by The Luka State_


End file.
